Buried alive
by Aftenstjerne83
Summary: ANGST! Morticia finds herself buried alive and fighting the panic...Who dared to do that to her? Read and find out ;) Enjoy! I have finished this one, yay! Reviews make a fangirl happy :D Don't try this at home...at least I heavily suggest ya'll skip the first part :P
1. Chapter 1

**Buried alive**

Usually she didn't mind darkness or silence. She lived and moved and breathed in these elements. Breathe, that was the word. She could not breathe. The silence and darkness clung to her body like a painfully tight metal corset.

 _Je ne peux pas respirer._ The thought rang in her ears like a scream without the smallest whisper escaping her lips. The smell of raw earth blended with the moldy smell from the old coffin she was trapped in almost drove her insane. Buried alive. Morticia closed her eyes. Red and yellow dots danced before her vision. If she screamed, would he hear her? Probably not. She was six foot under now, doomed to fight the panic alone. She breathed in slowly through her nose, her rib cage pushing against the invisible corset surrounding her body, woven out of the terror of abandonment.

\- _Mon Cher-_ she exhaled with a desperate, little whisper- _Mon Cher, s'il vous plaît!_

The seconds crawled over her body like worms on a decaying corpse. But she wasn't dead. Not yet. Morticia tried to swallow but managed only a dry contraction in her throat. She bit her lip until she tasted blood. Most of the time her pulse was no more noticeable than a lazy, dark midwinter stream covered under a layer of ice and snow. But now her heart seemed to beat it's way out of her chest. Not in that fun and delightful way caused by her dear husbands somewhat demonic lovemaking but in a scary I'm-totally-loosing-control kind of way.

She lifted her delicate hands, each fingernail filed into a sharp claw, the flawless red nail polish invisible in the infinite darkness of the coffin. His dear face flashed before her vision: Dark eyes shone and glimmered in a way they only did when they looked at her. His mustache wiggled cheerfully. He was laughing. She tried to grasp the beautiful vision with her hands, her heart begging for him to free her. Morticia had reached the very limit of her self control. That didn't happen very often to put it mildly. This was her very first time to be buried alive, and she was scared beyond how she liked to be scared. Was it also the last? Was she really going to die like this?

Her nails scratched the moldy wood of the coffin lid above her face. A few of them broke and the pain jolted from her fingers and up her arms causing her to gasp for air only to find there was none left.

Morticia felt cold waves washing over her, dragging her down. It occurred to her that she was drowning in the ocean instead of suffocating in a coffin. What difference did it make? Either way, she was dying alone without Gomez. Her soul dreaded his absence more than her lungs feared the lack of oxygen. Light after light would shut down in her brain. But her love for him would be the very last candle that blew out before she surrendered into oblivion.

 _When we die, we die_ _together._

"Until death do us part" was let out from their vows. She got married in a black dress, a gorgeous one, lavishly decorated with precious stones, black pearls and raven feathers. She was buried in a much simpler, yet very elegant dress: Black silk almost as fine as spider web buttoned all the way down with small emeralds shaped into dragonflies.

Morticia imagined the fabric of her dress melting into her decaying skin, the pale, almost radiant skin which still ran so smoothly over her bones and curves. _We were supposed to be rotting together,_ her dying heart cried out. The darkness gave no answer. And then she added to the vanishing stream of consciousness flowing through her oxygen deprived brain: _This is really all my fault._


	2. Chapter 2

Veil of clouds covered a pallid moon floating above the cemetery. There was no wind. Both the owls and the bats seemed to have flown elsewhere. The only sound in the quiet night was the sound of a shovel cutting into wet soil followed by the thumping sound of the same soil hitting solid ground. The moon unveiled herself and illuminated a masculine form clad in dark colors. Broad shouldered, hunched over the shovel with a maniacs grin on his face, the man was digging away as fast as he could. He sped up to an almost inhuman pace before the shovel hit something hard. The frightening expression on his face as he shoveled the remaining earth of the ornamented coffin lid made his rather handsome features appear demon- like in the moonshine. His laughter was the greedy chuckle of a grave robber who had reached his ultimate goal.

The composer Rachmaninoff once wrote a prelude which tells the story of a poor man buried alive scratching on the coffin lid in desperation the same way Morticia did now. There was, alas, no music to this horrid scene, only the lonely sound of her long nails scraping and breaking against the heavy lid. Fresh blood trickled down her pale fingers. She didn´t scream or if she did she was not aware of it. The sound of gushing water filled her head while blood red clouds of terror colored her vision in the dark.

Then all of sudden there was a light: Not the famous tunnel of love and light greeting the ones about to die, not the shiny gate of Heaven nor the glowing pits of Hell. Just the familiar and oh so lovely face of the silent, old moon faithfully guarding the Addams estate.

He tried to meet her eyes. She seemed to be staring right through him, her eyes huge and black with terror. Her chest rose and fell in a fast pace drawing his attention to the tantalizing form of her breasts covered only by a thin layer of black silk. He looked at her face again. The vulnerable look of pure fright didn´t leave her eyes and it hit him right in the heart. Her mouth shivered as she breathed in the precious air in small sobs and gasps. The color of her lips had turned from their usual luscious deep red to a pale, almost whitish pink. Although she stayed mute, fighting herself to recover from the horror he had put her trough, he could clearly hear her voice inside his head. Their connection ran that deep.

 _Gomez, you almost killed me._

He struggled to stop himself from dragging her from the velvet of the coffin and into his arms. He was dying to hold her, comfort her, more than a bit worried that he had pushed things to far.

She had always pushed him further in their private games. She claimed that she had limits, then she beckoned him to cross them. She wanted him to frighten her. Again and again, and in new and thrilling ways. She was never fully satiated by him, she always wanted more. And he so wanted to give her more. Once in a while there was nothing like seeing her seemingly limitless self control broken down. She needed those few, sweet moments of submission and he did too. Rare as they were, he couldn´t deny her moments of weakness was a huge turn on for him.

Morticia was happy nobody else got to see her like this. Gomez was the only person who had peeked behind her cool mask of coquetry, good manners and self control, at least in her adult life. Now she found strength in his eyes that shone above her with equal parts of worry and lust.

\- Lay still, cara, he said in a low, gentle voice which almost made her cry.

He winked at her.

\- Remember, you are supposed to be dead.

Morticia obeyed and closed her eyes, once more calm and content in the presence of her beloved. If she had kept them open for a few more seconds she would have noticed the sudden change in Gomez face, the worried, loving husband transforming into a cold and cynical grave robber. Gomez Addams was back in the game- their game. Morticia was glad she didn´t break character. Or, she clearly did with her frantic scratching on the coffin lid and desperate gasping for air once he freed her. But it sure was darn hard to play dead properly, especially when one felt like one where about to die for real. And she was delightfully aware of the fact that before this game was over she would break character once more…

She felt the sweet sensation of the robbers gaze upon her body. Gomez had sled down next to the coffin and was kneeling beside her. He lifted his right hand and brushed his warm fingertips lightly over her collarbones. She suppressed a sigh of pleasure. The contact with his warm hands made her realize just how cold she was. She felt her nipples pearl against the silk of her gown and she knew he saw it and liked what he saw. She could hear it in his labored breathing. His hands closed around the heart shaped locket on her chest. He ripped it right off with one violent thug. She flinched but continued to lay still with closed eyes, feeling his greedy eyes all over her.

-What a beautiful women you were.

His Castillian accent thickened his voice as it often did when Gomez became emotional. The sound of his voice made desire start to squirm like a snake in the lower part of her body. She longed for him. Longed for his naked, warm body wrapped all around her. Gomez was hot by nature, feverish almost. She would often seek his warmth at night being skinny and with somewhat bad circulation, she needed his warmth to stay healthy both physically and mentally.

 _What would I be without you, mon cher_ , she thought, then shivering again with pleasure, struggling to stay still as his hand paused to cup her right breast, teasing the nipple ever so slightly, before it glided down to her small hand. As he pulled the black diamond ring of her wounded finger, she had to bite her lip not to scream. He certainly was aware he hurt her, still the silver ring next to it went off just as brutally as the first one. The robber showed no mercy. Tears threatened to spring to her eyes. She held her breath for a few seconds before she exhaled slowly.

Gomez lifted her lifeless hand stained in dried blood and kissed it. His kiss mellowed the pain.

-You look like you died under violent circumstances, he whispered cheerfully.


	3. Chapter 3

Gomez had carried Morticia inside the house. She was certainly glad that the house was empty. Mama, Thing and Uncle Fester had gone bat hunting with the children in a disused coal mine. Lurch had retired to his room hours ago. Her family was spared from another involuntary glimpse into their private life: He carrying her over his shoulder, shovel in hand, grinning face and pants most likely showing of the contours of his affection. She hanging as a butchered animal, soil and moss in her hair, broken nails and dried blood on her hands. A ruined beauty indeed. Discretion had never been their strongest side as a couple.

Morticia laid on a solid table made out of blood beech. It was placed in the middle of the dank library. A small fire was crackling in the fireplace raising its shoulders up against the huge shadows moving over the giant bookshelves. Morticia couldn't help it, she had to peek through her lashes. She was impressed by the way he had decorated the table with flowers. Pale lilies and beheaded dark red roses mixed with poison ivy made an intricate frame around her messy dark hair and slender body. She didn't knew her husband had a knack for flower decorations. She was about to compliment him for this hidden talent, always quick to praise his skills and the effort he put into their relationship. But she stopped herself in time, remembering her role in this game. Too dead to speak, she thought to herself. Even in french. Morticia wondered if Gomez missed her vocal encouragements. The french would usually drip from her tongue like honey during their lovemaking. She would whisper, scream and hiss in french, abandoning English altogether as long as their moment would last. Her darling was the only one who could get her load, the only one who could make her scream, he was very aware of that and quite proud of it.

Gomez lit a cigar and smoked it while watching her. She really looked dead now with her pale and peaceful face. Gorgeous, thick lashes fanning over cold skin, her chest completely still at the moment. The sight of her moved him, he was never able to look at his querida without being filled by some sort of strong emotions. At the moment he felt a wave of melancholy as words for her eulogy started to line up in his mind. If she really was gone...he could clearly see it now, just how beautiful she would look in an open casket, but oh, how her death would break not only his heart but his entire being. The loss of her would mean the end of him. His mouth started to shiver and he was exhaling smoke in small, shaky puffs. For a second he felt like shaking her narrow shoulders to make her open her eyes and comfort him in french.

Morticia inhaled the familiar smell of cigar smoke. Her marriage had made her a dedicated second hand smoker. The smell made her calm and excited at the same time. It meant her beloved was near and her world was complete. Unable to reach for him she quietly hoped for him to touch her again.

He did. With the cigar placed in the corner of his mouth and the joyous look of a kid on Christmas eve on his face he started to loosen up the fancy dragonfly buttons of her dress. Morticia enjoyed being exposed before him and his gentle fondling with the buttons made her nerve fibers tingle with pleasure while her lips, once again looking red and healthy remained firmly closed.

\- Precious stones, he mumbled, cigar in mouth- might be worth a nice, little fortune.

\- You don't need them where you are going, my darling, he whispered and stroke her cheek with the back of his hand before he let his thumb gently brush over her bottom lip.

\- Your husband must have been a very lucky man. She could hear the smile in his voice.

\- Too bad to be leaving such a glorious body to rot.

Gomez placed his hands on her now bare abdomen and moved the unbuttoned dress to the sides, revealing more pale, luscious skin. Morticia noticed with complacency how he held his breath for a few seconds, taking in the sight of her heavenly nakedness, once more admiring this goddess who was his forever and ever.

Morticia wasn't prepared for him to crush his cigar against the smooth skin on her left shoulder. She flinched and sensations of pain mixed with pleasure jumped across her skin. How could she forget how he loved to mark his ownership on her body when he was the one being dominant? She should probably let him have that role more often.


	4. Chapter 4

He bent down and kissed her lips, forcing the luscious red petals apart with his tongue. She knew very well from years of experience that Gomez had a tremendous strength in his tongue. The thought of what he could do to her with that marvelous tongue of his made her forget herself and kiss him back.

\- You are unusually eager for a dead girl, Gomez murmured against her jawbone, teasing her.

\- I bet you were a real slut when you were alive.

He grabbed her hip and rubbed his fresh-shaven face between her breasts. Morticia suppressed a sudden urge to giggle. He never talked to her like that in their everyday life where she spend most of her time high upon a pedestal where he knelt to worship. Metaphorically at least. Now she found it rather funny hearing him calling her a slut. She knew he didn´t intend to be funny, though. This playing dead game proved to be a really tough one to master.

And oh so pleasantly even harder it got when he started to examine her body more thoroughly with his hands and his mouth. Her eyelids shivered like moth wings, like she was having an exciting dream. Indeed she did, she was living in the darkest, sweetest dream – awake with her eyes closed. Morticia dug her nails and sore fingertips into the wooden table without feeling the pain from the wounds nor the burnt skin on her shoulder.

She couldn´t help but arching her back and he slid his hands underneath the small of her back to support her while kissing her thigh, tearing at the fabric of her red silk panties with his teeth. Like a wolf, she thought, recalling memories from another funny game they used to play: He was a mean werewolf and she was that stupid, little girl dressed in red. She couldn´t recall the name of the girl, her mind hazed with lust, but she knew it was supposed to be a story for little children. Mortica could never imagine poisoning the innocent minds of little kids with such horrible stories about killing poor, defenseless beasts in their sleep. The werewolf version of Gomez however, did never tease her so painfully slowly. The grave robber did. He paused every now and then and pretended to be listening for any witnesses who could catch him doing unspeakable things in the dead of night.


	5. Chapter 5

The candelabras surrounding the table were the lovers played their sweet, macabre game cried black tears, staining the floor. The silent dripping from the candles and the faint crackling from the dying fire harmonized well with the ancient silent which usually reigned in the library. All of sudden the silence was broken by a shrilling female scream which made the shadows in the room shrink and jump back, startled by this unexpected outburst from the usually silent mistress of the house.

Gomez flinched slightly by the sensation of her strong contractions, it felt almost like he got his fingers bitten by sharp teeth. He was amused but not surprised. He knew by experience that going slow with Morticia sometimes turned her into a creature of mythological dimensions. With other parts inside of her this could get quite...interesting.

He was pleased by her screaming too, he loved to drive her wild and he enjoyed the fact that she couldn't always control herself when he used his eminent skills as a lover on her.

\- You lost, cara mia.

Gomez smiled down at his wife, the taste of her still lingering on his tongue.

\- Oh, did I?

She granted him one of her rare smiles, eyes twinkling and cheeks flushed. She looked painfully beautiful in her afterglow, she always did.

\- I should loose more often then, she continued and reached for him with one wounded hand, dragging him down over her.

...

Gomez enjoyed the sensation of cool, wet hair against his hot chest as he was fading into sleep with Morticia in his arms.

\- Mon cher?

The sound of her silky voice jerked him back into wakefulness.

\- Yes, my eternity?

\- You scared me tonight.

He squeezed her tighter to him enjoying the feeling of her bony body poking into him in different places.

\- Promise me one thing?

\- Anything, querida.

\- The next time I go six foot under I will be dead for real. I enjoyed everything about tonight, mon sauvage, I really did, but...

\- ...but that Rachmaninoff- experience was a little too much, even for you?

He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

\- Maybe.

She kissed the hand resting against her cheek.

\- Don't worry, querida. There are still so many other things I would like to try with you. This weekend I buried you, next weekend...

\- Next weekend I will be your domina, darling.

Morticia interrupted him, rubbing her head against his chest in a feline way.

\- Oh, I almost forgot. Well, my Mistress, I look forward to it.

\- I'll dream about a nice surprise for you, Morticia mumbled with her lips against his neck.

Gomez kissed her eyes and sighed happily.

 _I am the luckiest man in the world_ , he thought as he drifted into oblivion.


End file.
